Breaktime
by HyperSoft
Summary: Marcus has a hard time switching off "sergeant mode," even when he moves into Anya's new officer's quarters on Vectes. But just like out on the field, Anya calls the shots, and when it comes to Marcus, she decides he needs a break. [ PWP, surprise surprise. Companion story to Wicked Game ]


**A/N: **what is this I don't even

* * *

**Breaktime**

The grime-streaked windows of the recently reclaimed officer's apartments filtered the red-gold rays of the sunset as another day on Vectes came to an uneventful close. Anya allowed herself a few quiet moments to watch the sun as it dipped below the sea's vast horizon. These days, when the entire world was reduced to an overpopulated port town on a remote island, one simply had to sit and enjoy the little pretty things.

Shaking her head, Anya finally pulled herself from the window and stode down the hall to the door that led to her private quarters. They should all watch more sunsets. And sunrises, too. All day and night, they just broke their backs and worried about everything, but Sera was still carrying on and being just as beautiful as ever.

She turned to the door at the end of the narrow corridor, wrestling somewhat with her enormous duffle bag full of heavy armour plating. She never realized just how tired she was until the moment her hand brushed that doorknob, and then her fatigue seemed to wash over her like a fuzzy white wave. Running her fingers through her limp platinum locks—freshly cut, and therefore too short for her signature bun—Anya breathed deep and turned the brass handle.

The lieutenant practically jumped out of her skin; Marcus Fenix was leaning casually on the wooden desk that was built into the wall of her room, eyes closed and one hand up to his ear.

It had taken her forever to convince him to leave the crowded common barracks and move into her modest private quarters, but even though it had been weeks since he finally brought over his sparse collection of personal belongings, she was still occasionally startled by discovering him in her small officer's suite at the end of each day.

The door closed behind her with an audible click, and the sergeant slowly opened his cool blue eyes. He mouthed a small _"hey"_ at her in typical greeting, then tilted his head towards the ear his hand was over.

"Yes, sir, I heard. Pelruan's not going to like being evacuated, but they're gonna have to learn to deal."

Understanding dawned on Anya; Marcus was on the tac-com with someone, and judging by his semi-formal address, it was probably Colonel Hoffman. Sighing, she dropped her duffle bag to the faded floorboards, kicked off her heavy steel-soled boots, and strode over to her sergeant. He watched her approach distantly; smiling, she went up on tip-toe and planted an unobtrusive kiss on the scar at the corner of his mouth. He'd never been one for expressing affection openly, but he was gradually learning to accept it. He allowed the small kiss without resistance, even letting his hand stray to give her hip a faint squeeze before she pulled away.

"Most likely," Marcus replied to an unknown question. Anya rolled her eyes knowingly as she grabbed a towel from the wrought iron frame of her—no, _their_—bed. No doubt Hoffman had a legitimate reason for hounding the sergeant after his shift like this, but it still struck Anya as a bit unfair. Everyone knew that Marcus felt like he was personally responsible for the entire COG; he needed all the down-time he could get, even if he didn't want it.

"Just like we always do, sir. Tell 'em Prescott's orders."

The lieutenant leaned on the frail door that lead to the cramped bathroom and caught Marcus' eye one last time.

_Hoffman?_ she mouthed, feigning a grossed-out frown.

He nodded wearily back and shrugged, as if to apologize for wasting their rare off-duty hours.

Anya just gave him a small, gentle grin, hoping he'd understand that it didn't bother her that much, then shuffled off to the bathroom.

They only ever had heated water for the shower for a few scant minutes, and even then the water was more lukewarm than actually hot, but it was enough to wash the grime and sweat of the day from tired muscles and hair. When Anya emerged from the tiny bathroom, the single ragged towel tucked around her torso, Marcus was still deep in conversation with Hoffman.

"Yeah, I'll check on it. Tomorrow."

The lieutenant wished Marcus had the capacity to be an asshole for once and tell their commanding officer to stuff it, but she'd heard about the inevitable decision to evacuate Pelruan. Of course, Marcus would want to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible. Personally.

Sighing and running her fingers through her damp hair, Anya padded over to the squat metal dresser across the room from the desk Marcus was perched on.

When a woman spent enough time in a male-dominated field like the army, she got very good at changing clothes quickly without baring an inch of unnessecary skin. Barely even loosening her towel, Anya shimmied her way into a pair of black cotton boyshorts and a military-grade sports bra. Of course, it wasn't anything the man across the room hadn't seen before, but there was something to be said for retaining some measure of mystique.

However, as she finally dropped the soggy towel from around her waist, she was vaguely aware of her sergeant's gaze on her half-naked form. She paused for a few moments of dramatic effect, then turned around carefully.

His hazy blue eyes were sliding easily along the lines of her long, smooth legs, one brow slightly arched as if he was remembering more pleasant things than drawn-out conversations with the colonel. It was short lived, though, because he suddenly coughed and leaned his head into his hand again.

"No idea, Colonel. Have you talked to Sharle yet?"

It was then that Anya decided that Marcus had spent quite enough time at Hoffman's ear, and an idea was forming swiftly in her head: without bothering to put on the rest of her off-duty fatigues, she sauntered cat-like up to her sergeant.

It was time for a break.

Marcus watched her warily, brows furrowed with mild confusion as she closed the space between them and pressed her still-wet body flush against his.

It wasn't until she crushed her ample breasts against his chest that he flashed her a warning _what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing_ look.

She ignored him. Steadying her hands on the desk on either side of his hips, she leaned heavily on him and began to trail slow, hot kisses from his strong jaw down to his exposed collarbone.

"...Yes, sir." She felt the rumble of his voice deep in his throat and chest. Her roaming lips drifted over his COG tags' chain and over to his other collarbone, where she began to suckle gently at his pulse. Her hands came up to toy innocently with his belt. "They love the old bastard. They'll listen to him."

His voice didn't betray his current predicament, but his free hand was now firm around her waist; something told Anya it was less a sign of returned affection than an attempt to pry her off. She broke away from his neck; seeing the faint bruise her love bite had left, the lieutenant drew back and smirked coyly up at her man.

He was obviously still listening to Hoffman ranting in his ear, but the look on his scarred features said he thought he dodged a bullet. And to Anya, that just seemed like a challenge.

She turned around, slow as poured honey, and pushed her shapely rear into the front of his heavy cargo pants. That earned her a little grunt that was half surprised lust, half annoyed, as well as a disciplinary smack to the hip. However, the physical contact was more encouraging than anything, and Anya ground her haunches even harder into his.

"Then...get...a team together..." Marcus' steely exterior was cracking ever so slightly. "Delta should be..." Circling her hips mercilessly, Anya twisted around to toss her sergeant a wanton look from over her bare shoulder. He glared daggers and bucked his own hips in another bid to get her off. "Delta should be able to handle it."

The sergeant could make all the faces he wanted; no matter how much he protested, Anya could feel the proof of his reluctant arousal beneath the thick fabric of his cargos quite clearly. Flashing a positively evil grin, she turned back fully to him and, with her fiery mouth back on his neck, began to push his tight-fitting compression shirt up over his abdomen. His flesh practically seared her as she pressed her palms flat against his bare stomach, causing him to flinch slightly.

"I'll just...just round 'em up tomor...ah, _tomorrow_."

Anya reached for Marcus' belt. The movement must have jerked him from his mild reverie, because his free hand suddenly shot out to keep her at bay. But the lieutenant curtly slapped it away and undid the oversized buckle before he could stop her. Now that her goal was so close at hand, Anya wasted no time in loosening the belt and unzipping the cargos. She made sure to keep him preoccupied with her passionate neck-kisses, then slid a hand down the expanse of hard muscles below his navel and into his black boxer-briefs. He made another spirited attempt at staving her off, then froze completely as her fingers found their mark, and she gripped him gently.

She was aware of his powerful heartbeat then, how it seemed to surround her completely, and she drew back a bit to look at his face. His previous expression of exasperated wrath had softened somewhat, and he held her gaze with some measure of carnal connection, no matter how unwilling. Never taking her eyes from his, she moved her hand slowly along his pulsing length, feeling his massive chest rise and fall as he inhaled with every lingering stroke.

Anya was close enough to hear Hoffman's gruff bellowing through Marcus' tac-com.

_ "Fenix? Are you still there?"_

The sergeant blinked and touched his fingers to his ear again, making a valient effort to remain present in spite of his lover's attentions. "Yeah...I'm...here," the growl was undeniably strained, but his face had resumed its vengeful shade. "You're...going to have to repeat that last bit."

He was glaring at her again, but Anya couldn't possibly care less. She just shrugged innocently and dropped down to her knees.

Marcus gaped, utterly unimpressed, and shot her the coldest _don't-you-fucking-dare_ look she'd ever seen him conjure up. Once again, she payed him no mind, and began to rain more heady kisses down his rock-hard stomach, pausing only to lick at the dent where his bulging oblique ran into his hip. He brought his knee up like he was fending off a rambunctious dog, but he was no match for Anya's deft fingers; she felt his breath hitch as she freed his burgeoned member, thumb running smoothly up and down the hard ridge.

"Sir, could you just...just...hold on for a—"

Her eyes flicked up to his for a scant moment, then she took the heft of him in her mouth, as much as she could stand.

The sergeant grunted like he'd been shot, his free hand tangling roughly in her hair as his spine arched at the sudden pleasure.

_"What the hell is wrong with you, Fenix?"_ Hoffman's tinny voice erupted from the tac-com_. "You still with me or what?"_

Marcus took several precious seconds to straighten himself, then gave his head a vicious shake like he'd just slammed a glass of Dizzy's home-brewed hooch.

"_Stairs_, sir," he said haltingly. Anya released him from the hot trap of her mouth to blow coolly over his swollen flesh, then enveloped him completely again. "Going up..._rrng_...stairs."

Pushing one hand up to massage his taught stomach muscles, then grasping him firmly at his base with the other, she began the foolproof bobbing rhythm she knew would make him see stars. She could hear that Hoffman had began his tirade again, but judging by the deep groans the sergeant was making in time with the pumping of her hand and tongue, he was no longer paying the slightest attention. His strong body flexed into her; it was clear that he was doing his best to refrain from thrusting too harshly into the warmth of her mouth, and it wasn't long before his breathing became heavy and erratic.

He held her face and let a tortured moan escape his lips. He was close, Anya could feel. _So close_. Determined to finish him, she doubled her efforts, sucking and swirling her tongue mercilessly over his sensitive crown. Looking up one last time, she saw his scarred visage caught in a moment of sweet agony; his eyes were screwed shut, and he was biting down on his forearm as he fought down a cry of intense pleasure.

Finally, when Anya was sure he didn't have another ounce of control left, the sergeant's hand shot up to his ear.

"S-sorry, sir." His voice had been reduced to a husky growl. "Gotta go."

With that, he ripped the tac-com from his ear, threw it across the room, and doubled over Anya with a long, deep, laboured groan as he came apart. She clung to him, weathering the forceful storm of his climax as he rode it out, driving home with several rolling thrusts that nearly gagged her. When he finally spent his last, Anya swallowed without complaint and let him slide from her lips.

Slowly, vertebrae by vertebrae, he uncoiled his concaved back and eased his shaking fists from her hair. Anya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and watched him: he leaned back fully over the desk, resting on his elbows with his face turned up to the ceiling.

She waited for a short while before setting to doing back up his manhandled cargo pants.

"How do you feel, Sarge?"

Marcus' narrow eyes remained locked on the roof. He tilted his head like he was contemplating his answer. He finally settled on, "Used."

Giving a snort of laughter, Anya fastened his belt, then pulled herself to her feet and tugged his compression shirt back down over his still-heaving belly. He continued to avoid her eyes, like some kind of pouting puppy. "Well," Anya said airly. "You certainly seemed to enjoy it."

She leaned over on him again to plant a grinning kiss on his cheek, reminding him that, while she could ignore him with ease, he was utterly powerless to refuse her his own attention. However, it took a second kiss to finally bring his face down level with hers. He had his brows furrowed in an expression of mild contempt; Anya pursed her lips innocently, and they held each other's eyes for a long moment.

Suddenly, Marcus reached around and gave Anya a loud, sharp smack to the ass.

"You're a fuckin' brat."

"You're pronouncing _fantastic lover_ wrong."

The man arched a single unamused brow. "I don't suppose you gave any thought as to how fucking _disturbing_ it is to hear Hoffman's voice during that kind of shit, hm?"

Anya couldn't hold back the burst of laughter at the thought; no, indeed she hadn't. She yelped as Marcus suddenly grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her gracelessly up onto his lap.

"Yeah, well..." he growled into her neck, causing her to squirm in his bruising hold. "You're in trouble now."

His gravelly threat sent shivers down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around his thick neck. "Ominous. Shall I prepare for my demise now?"

"You _wish_, kiddo. I've got a furious colonel to go deal with, but when I get back..." He dropped his voice to a low, menacing tone. "Like I said. You're in trouble."


End file.
